The Lady Midnight: Origins
by snow1010
Summary: The story of Lady Midnight's past. *you don't have to read this story first. *It is meant to be read consectively or after The Lady Midnight.*
1. Prologue

Prologue

1463, the Irish countryside

Smoke twisted like phantom snakes, fading away into the starry night. Flames feverishly ate the thatch roofs, the straw crackling with a roar. People rushed out of their homes, arms full of their smoldering belongings. Slick serpentine shapes darted through the haze of the thick smoke, launching themselves at the defenseless villagers.

Bloodcurdling screams rose into the air as the demons ripped into their flesh, blood soaking the earth.

The girl watched, wooden doll clutched to her chest, too frightened to move. The fire lit the tear tracks on her cheeks bright gold.

"Come, sweetheart, we have to go," her mother said, black ichor dripping from her gold hair. Her sharp features turned feral in the harsh shadows the inferno cast on the two.

The girl grasped her mother's free hand. In the corner of her eye, her mother's sword glowed a soft white-blue. She had always told her that the angels of God had given her that sword, that they had fashioned it with the stars and fire of Heaven.

With an incredibly hard grip, the woman pulled her daughter roughly behind her as one snake-like demon left its prey, drawn by the cold glow of the woman's sword. A guttural snarl spat from its bloody fangs.

The woman shoved the girl behind her as the demon coiled, tensed and launched itself into the air. The girl stumbled, legs folding underneath her. She fell into something hot, and wet. With shaky breath, she looked at her hands. Something dark and slick coated her skin. She could feel it dripping down her neck, soaking into her roughspun dress. Right in front of her was a blood-crusted hand, limp fingers almost beckoning to the girl. She could tell it was a woman. No man would have such slim, small hands.

Glazed, empty eyes reflected flames and shadows back at her. She swallowed the scream rising in her throat, fear coiling in her chest. Through the haze, she could make out the darting shapes of her mother and the demon, circling and circling each other, drawing close and away, like a dance. Through the slashes of her dress, the girl could make out the strange black angel marks lacing her skin.

When the demon reared, snapping at her mother again, she brought the sword down in a deadly arc, splitting the demon in half. It fell to the grass with a heavy wet thud.

The girl was pushing herself up when the thuds of horse hooves joined the cacophony of sounds. Relief flooded her, as she saw the marks decorating the armour of the knights. Nephilim.

But then there was confusion. Her mother narrowed her eyes, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. Black liquid slowly dripped off the softly glowing blade.

The head of the knight party stopped, while the others raced off to stop the other demons. He took off his helm, shaking out sweaty, stringy hair. The girl rose unsteadily to her feet, slowly approaching the pair. She couldn't hear what they were saying; the crackling of flames, the growling of the demons and the singing of blades through air filled the air.

Before she could reach out, the man withdrew a dagger and slashed out. Her mother's hands shakily reached up to her throat, blood splashing the man's snarling features. Her sword made a thud as it dropped to the ground.

The scream tore out of her throat. The girl charged towards him, and with as much strength a ten year old could muster, beat at him with small bloodstained hands. The man grabbed her by the wrists. Her feet lifted until her toes just grazed the ground as he lifted her, throwing her to the ground. Stars floated across her vision as her head snapped back, hitting the ground hard.

The man spat at them in disgust. He knelt down, yanking the sword from her mother's grasp.

"This does not belong to you," he snarled.

Then he left.

The girl knelt beside her mother, a small hand rising to stop the blood leaking from her wound. But her mother grasped her wrist in a bone-crushing grip.

"You have to-" her mother choked. Blood coated her chin, running down the sides of her face. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her throat. "I love you."

The girl sobbed. It felt like a hand was squeezing her chest, blocking the breath flowing in and out of her.

With shaking bloody hands, her mother unclasped her necklace, handing it to her daughter.

"You're special, more than you know," she whispered. Then with a sigh, she closed her eyes.

The girl let out a grief-stricken howl. She clutched the necklace to her chest, covered with ichor and her mother's blood.

With a voice as quiet as death, she whispered; "I will avenge you, Mother. I swear it."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

1469

On her sixteenth birthday, her hair started to turn blue. Ailia stared in shock, gray-blue eyes wide. Cursing under her breath, she quickly bound her hair, covering it with her habit. She thanked God for the oppressive fabric.

She bound her simple dress with a rope belt at her waist, her simple rosary beads dangling. Under the high neck of her dress was her mother's pendant. She knew that the Abbess knew of it, but she was never told that she couldn't wear it.

"Sister Ailia."

Ailia turned, finding one of the other nuns waiting in the doorway. She groaned inwardly. It was Sister Agnes. For some reason, the infernal woman refused to use her Christian name. She had also been in charge of disclipine. Years old hate curled under her skin.

"Yes, Sister Agnes?" she asked sighing.

"The Lady Abbess would like to see you."

Ailia straightened, every muscle in her body strung tight. She wracked her mind, listing all the things she did that week. She did all of her chores, all of her training, listened to all of her instructors. Nothing wrong.

Agnes cleared her throat impatiently. Ailia shook herself from her daze, dipping her head. "Yes, thank you Sister Agnes. I'll go immediately."

The lines around Agnes' mouth tightened with disapproval. She crossed her arms below her breasts, tilting her head slightly. She wasn't going to leave.

_Please let me not lose my temper_, she prayed, as she followed the older woman out of the living quarters. Braziers brimming with witchlight stones lit the stone hallways of the abbey a strange white-blue, like stars.

The other women eyed her, some in pity, others in curiosity. They all wore the same gray dress and habits, rosaries dangling from their rope belts. But there were a few different things about this abbey. No other abbey housed lost women of the Shadow World.

A hand grabbed hers, stopping her progress. Ailia stared into bright blue eyes, that quickly flashed bright gold, before settling back to blue. Isabella.

"Is everything alright?" Isabella's French accent stuttered her words.

"I'll talk to you later," she said, giving her a meaningful eyebrow raise.

Isabella nodded, winking. Agnes narrowed her eyes at the young woman. "Get to your chores, Sister Isabella," she snapped. "This is no business of yours."

A slight growl thundered in her chest, her eyes flashing gold again. With a defiant lift of her strong chin, she left them, hips swaying confidently.

Ailia shook her head, smiling. Isabella could make even a nun's dress look glamorous.

Feeling the touch of Agnes' disapproving eyes, she made her way to the Lady Abbess' quarters. Besides the chapel, the Abbess' quarters were the most luxurious in the entire abbey.

Rich tapestries of angels hung from the walls. Behind the rich red wood desk, a tapestry of the Angel Raziel hung. The celestial being rose from the Lake Lyn, a sword and cup in its hands. The sight of it made Ailia burn with hatred. A Shadowhunter had killed her mother, even though she was one of them. Why would a Shadowhunter kill its own kind?

"Please be seated, Sister Ailia," the Lady Abbess said, gesturing to the plain wood chair placed on the other side of the desk. Ailia plopped herself down, her fingers straying to the rosary beads dangling at her hip.

The Lady Abbess sat in the chair just in front of the Raziel tapestry. She carefully folded her hands on her desk, looking Ailia in the eyes.

"Why are you nervous, dear girl?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Ailia stiffened.

"Am I in trouble? Because I didn't do anything," she blurted.

The Lady Abbess chuckled, her gray eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're not in trouble, dear. I've called you here because there is information here for you. About your mother."

Ailia bit her lip as soon as she felt the hot prick of tears in her eyes. She did not want to cry in front of this woman. Because if she did, she didn't know if she'd be able to stop.

The older woman withdrew a worn leather book from her desk and placed it carefully on the desk. Her fingers tapped on the cover, slowly.

"This was her journal from when she was younger. It isn't much, many entries have been ripped out, but its something."

Ailia picked up the journal, feeling each crease in the leather with her thumb.

"Your mother came here when she was pregnant with you," the older woman continued. "When you were born, she entrusted her journal to me, saying that on your sixteenth year, you were to have it."

She hugged the journal to her chest. Another piece of her mother, living in the pages of this journal, in the letters carefully inked into the parchment, that she could actually physically touch.

"Thank you," she whispered. A tear escaped, running down her cheek, dropping off her chin. Her bottom lip wobbled. Releasing a shaky breath, she stared into the witchlight stones lighting the room. The star-like light burned away the tears, she felt them suddenly clear from her eyes, like a weight being lifted off them.

"Ailia, what do you know of the Shadow World, and your attachment to it?"

She opened the journal, staring at the delicate looping script. It looked just like her writing.

"Not much," she said, not looking away from the journal. "My mother was Nephilim. And another Nephilim killed her. That's all I know."

The Lady Abbess gave her a weighted stare. "You can go back to your quarters and read her journal. But you must make it back to training. Or Sister Freya will be cross."

Amelia snorted, closing the journal. "Cross is putting it lightly."

The Lady Abbess smiled amiably. "You're dismissed."

Nodding, she quietly left.

…

_The forest was quiet today, except for the hush of the wind through the trees. No peeping of the birds or bugs. No rustle in the underbrush of animals sneaking around. It unsettled me deeply. _

_The rush of pounding feet and hoof came upon me, thundering with the suddenness of a waterfall. Hunting hounds appeared out of the shadows, darkness coming off them like smoke. Before I could even do anything, they had me pinned to the ground, snarling in my ears. Slobber dripped down from their fangs, splattering my skin. _

_The horses came quietly, the only sound was the soft impact of their hooves on the soil. But that was not the most frightening part. It was the riders perched on top of the horses that made hot shivers of fear run along my skin. They were sharply beautiful, like the edge of a decorated dagger. Exquisite, yet deadly. Not human. Fey._

_The hard impact of a rider's dismount made me jerk against the ground. The hounds growled deeper, paws digging further into my bones. _

_"Hm, a human that can see us? How unusual," the rider commented. The rider, by their voice I could tell was male, knelt beside me. I looked up at him, recoiling at what I saw. One eye was as clear and bright as an emerald while the other was a seething, burning gold. The man's mouth was twisted in a satisfied smirk. _

_"A little young though. How old are you girl?" _

_"Fourteen," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. _

_He considered me with an appraising glance. His long fingers grasped my cheeks, turning my face towards him. _

_"Are you of mixed blood girl? Did your mother cavort with the Fair Folk?" _

_"I don't know what you're talking about," I said shakily. _

_"Aw, poor thing. Thought you were mad, seeing creatures in the shadows? Well, you're not." _

_The man shooed away one of the hounds, the animal whining low. With a sharp nail, he cut a line into my palm. Hot needles of pain sank into my skin, a cry escaping my mouth. It immediately ceased. _

_The man smiled, looking at his nail. Bright red liquid dripped down his finger. Disgusting yet fascinated, I watched as he caught the falling droplet on his tongue, tasting my blood. _

_Something flickered in his eyes. "Nephilim. And fey. A bastard no doubt. But something, different. A spark of great power." _

_Wiping the remaining blood on my clothing, he stood. "We cannot hunt this one. Her blood is ours and _theirs_."_

_With that, they left. _

_Even now as I write this in some barn I've found cover in, I shiver with fright. At the same time, there was sweet relief. They did not who I was. _

_That meant they didn't know I had escaped. Or about the baby that grew inside me. _

Ailia closed the journal. So her mother wasn't just Nephilim. What did that make her? Would it explain why her hair was turning blue?

The door to the nuns' quarters swung open with a loud slam. Isabella came in, a long dark hair escaping her habit.

"You better hurry, or Sister Freya is going to kill everyone with her bare hands," she said, letting out a hurried breath.

Tucking the journal away, she followed her friend out of the sleeping quarters. They stopped at an ivory statue of an angel. To anyone that did not know of the Shadow World, that was all it was. To the ones that did, they recognized the angel as Raziel, the creator of the race of half-angel warriors.

Ailia reached up, touching a gem on the Mortal Cup that the statue grasped. It sunk under her touch, the statue beginning to shake. The statue slid aside, revealing a hidden stairway underneath. The two young women disappeared into the stairway, the statue sliding back into place behind them.

Witchlight stones in little sconces lit their way. Their steps fell like sinking stones in murky water, muffled and indistinct. The walls were slick with moisture. For some reason, it made Ailia think that she was descending into the belly of some great beast.

The stairway led to the real Sanctuary, a place where the women were trained, with combat skills, language skills, magic, everything.

When Ailia had first arrived, the Lady Abbess had told her that the warlocks of the Spiral Labyrinth had helped them build it. They had cast spells on it so that only women would be drawn to it. Men would actually be repelled by it. It was a safe haven.

The sounds of metal clanging and voices reached Ailia's ears as they emerged from the tunnel. She stopped and started to edge back towards the stairway. But it was too late. Sister Freya had spotted her.

"Sister Ailia," the young woman snarled. "So good of you to deign to join us."

"I'm sorry, Sister, I was j-just-" she stammered.

"No excuses. Just go and get changed."

Ailia scrambled for the change rooms, where she eagerly shucked off her oppressive dress and habit. She pulled on the tunic and pants folded for her in her cubbie. She was just about to go and join the others when she remembered. She raced to the mirror, cursing. It almost looked like the blue streak was becoming larger. Pulling her hair back, she quickly braided it. The rest of her hair covered the root of the blue hair, but one could see it on the bottom of her braid, woven in with the rest of her golden-brown hair.

She couldn't fight with her habit on.

Praying that no one would spot the obvious difference, Ailia went out in her training gear. She took up a sword, and joined the rest of the women in the circle. Sister Freya began to run them through sword drills, before finally allowing them to spar.

It seemed that Freya was in a particular foul mood, as she paired Ailia with a vampire woman named Camille. From what Ailia remembered, Camille was one of the original vampires of Vlad's court, and had fled once the Vampire War began. She remembered the night she had come in, dress ragged, dried blood stained all over her, fangs bared. Ever since, she had held a certain wariness around the immortal woman.

Once Sister Freya called to start, Camille launched herself at her, her sword coming towards her in a deadly arc. Somehow, she recalled her wits, and blocked. The clash of their practice swords filled Ailia's ears as they parried and striked.

All of the practice over the years seemed to be culminate in this one fight, every technique, every movement. It was as if Ailia was floating in her own body, not completely present. With a quick movement, she disarmed Camille with a quick flick of her wrist, lashing out with a solid kick to the vampire's chest. Camille was too shocked to retaliate, Ailia holding the sword above her heart.

It was only then that Ailia noticed how quiet the training room was. All of the women looked at her with stunned expressions, while Sister Freya's was indiscernible.

She clapped suddenly. "Class dismissed. Please return to your chores."

The women muttered disappointingly, Ailia following after.

Camille studied the girl as she walked away. This girl had always been gifted with combat, but today, it was as if she was a different being. She sniffed. Her scent was starting to change as well, something that had once been hidden, buried revealing itself.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"By the angels," Isabella murmured.

"I know," Ailia answered, once again hiding the growing deep blue stripe.

"And when did this start? This morning?"

"Yes. It does not seem like coincidence that it is my birthday, and this starts. Also my daily potion ran out as well."

Isabella stilled, her fingers going to her rosary, rubbing the beads familiarly. "What does this mean for your illness?"

"I do not know. I can only hope that the Abbess has more, or can order more."

She dug out the worn journal given to her by the Abbess. "She also gave me this. According to her, my mother wanted me to have it."

She opened the journal, fluttering the worn pages. Something dark flashed through the flurry of pages, making her stop. She flipped to the page.

A sketch of a sword was wrought in careful detail. Ailia traced the shape of it. She knew that sword.

It was her mother's. Until that Shadowhunter had killed her, and taken it from her. The same hilt shaped into the unfurled wings of an angel. The slight luminescence of the blade.

A memory suddenly took her. In their small cabin home, her mother had shown her the sword, her black inked hands hovering over the blade reverently.

_"This is not just any sword, Ailia. It was made specifically for our family. Our blood. Touch it." _

With small fingers she had. The blade glowed blindingly in response, so bright that she had to close her eyes.

"Ailia?"

Isabella's voice took her from her reverie. Her friend watched her worriedly, her eyes darted between the sketch of the sword and Ailia. She grabbed her hand.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts. I think maybe you should read more of the journal."

With a pat on the hand, Isabella left her side.

Ailia immediately began to read the journal once more.

_My beautiful girl Ailia. _

_She sleeps soundly, strange for a baby. Not sudden awakenings, or cries into the night. _

_I nodded to one of the sisters of the Sanctuary. It was time. _

_I had packed my things. I would only be gone for a little while, not long enough for Ailia to not remember her mother. _

_I needed to be able to protect my baby and myself. I knew that _they_ would come for her. I needed more training. _

_Not just to be able to fight as a fey warrior. But also as a Nephilim. I needed those Heavenly runes. _

_My mother had told me who my father had been. Now it was time to journey there. To the Institute in Ireland, headed by Lord Conall Fairchild. _

_If anything, my resemblance to my mother would at least give him pause. _

Conall Fairchild, the Lord of the Dublin Institute. Her grandfather. She wondered if he had orchestrated her mother's death. It wouldn't surprise her. The Nephilim were notorious for turning on one another.

The great proof of that was the Great Upheaval.

She tucked the journal under her pillow, as the other sisters began to put out the lanterns. If only she could see in the dark.

With a sigh, she fell asleep.

_Like every night, Ailia dreamt of flames. However this time was different. Instead it was a grand church burning. She could see the stark black runes on its gates. An Institute. Burning. _

_Shadowhunters fled, their eyes black with fear. But all she felt was a savage glee as she prowled slowly after them, her mother's sword in hand. The blade glowed underneath her grip, like a lonely star. _

_And she laughed as she struck the Nephilim down as they crawled away. The smell of smoke and death and ash urged her on. _

"Ailia!"

Ailia jolted up, rapidly blinking her eyes. Even in the darkness, she could see the smoke curling in the moonlight.

The fire. It was real. But it wasn't burning the Institute.

It was burning the Sanctuary.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The smoke grew thicker as the women emerged from their sleeping quarters. Flames licked eagerly at the wooden supports along the walls. They raced up into the rafters.

"Come on Ailia!" Isabella yelled, her grip on her hand bone-crushingly tight. Isabella had begun to Change in fright, her eyes glowing, teeth and nails lengthening.

Coughing, she ran with the other women, her eyes watering from the hot smoke. Someone had opened the doors in front of them, the starry night beckoning.

Ailia kept a tight grip on her mother's journal, the heat making her hand slick with sweat. She just couldn't lose the journal. It was the only thing she had left of her.

The women spilled out of the church, and into the hilly grasses. Ailia's foot caught, causing her to lose grip on Isabella's hand. She tumbled down the rest of the way, rocks stabbing into her. Finally she slowed to a stop. Groaning, she flipped herself onto her back, trying to catch the breath stolen from her.

That's when she heard it. Thunder.

She looked to the sky. It remained peaceful, a dark blue blanket studded with sparkling silver stars.

That could only mean one thing. Someone had attacked the Sanctuary.

Ailia took a breath, the pressure around her ribs lessening. She had to do something. Most of the women could at least defend themselves, but there were some of the newer sisters that were just learning.

She stuffed the journal into her bodice, feeling the ridges of it dig into her skin. She lifted her skirt and felt along her legs. She sighed in relief when her fingers touched cold metal. Withdrawing the twin daggers, she climbed her way up the small hill.

The Sanctuary was in flames, its heat almost buffeting her back. The glass windows suddenly blew out, shards flying everywhere. Ailia covered her head.

Inhuman snarls filled the air, sending chills along Ailia's spine. Vampires, she knew it. Followed by the thunder of horse hoof.

Women in torn finery shot across the bluff with impossible speed, screeching in predatory joy as they attacked the fleeing sisters. She watched as one flew at Sister Agnes, tearing her throat out with one violent movement, blood splashing into the air.

More certainty settled on Ailia. That meant that the horses following the vampires were either more vampires or Shadowhunters.

She didn't know which she dreaded more.

Ailia scrambled into action. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs, fear sparking in her veins. Something burned hard in her core, like a small star.

She grabbed a vampire by the hair, yanking her off her victim. Her dagger found home in her heart. She dissolved into ashes from the blessed silver of her blade.

Ailia looked down on the vampire's victim. The Lady Abbess. Her throat was a bloody mess, her glassy eyes reflecting the flames. Something was in her hand. Ailia grabbed it. Two small cylinders, like the hilts of swords, but the blades were missing. She studied them. There were angelic runes on them. Seraph blades.

"Ariel. Nuriel," she murmured.

The angelic blades shot out. Ailia had seen seraph blades before, how they glowed blue-white in the hands of the Nephilim.

Ailia knew she was at least in part Nephilim. But the blades under her grip glowed a strange white-gold. Red flickered within the blades' depths as if there were a fire trapped deep within.

A sudden scream startled Ailia from her thoughts. She whirled. A vampire launched herself at her, the two women colliding, rolling over and over until they stopped. Ailia grunted underneath the vampire's strength. One of the seraph blades was close to her fingers. If only she could reach it..

The vampire hissed at her, fangs bared. Blood stained her front, all down her chin and neck. Looking into her eyes, she knew that there was nothing there. At least with Camille, she knew there was at least some shred of soul left or at least some civility. But no.

A large form tackled the vampire. A wet sound of ripping flesh and a high pitched yowl rose into the air. Ailia rolled over, grabbing the seraph blades and prepared herself.

A wolf crouched over the vampire, now ripped to shreds. Its eyes glowed yellow.

"Isabella!" she cried. The wolf grumbled at her, almost disappointed that she didn't recognize her friend at once.

Grinning, she twirled the seraph blades and dove for another vampire. She felt Isabella at her side, as if they were tethered together. They were a team.

The Shadowhunters spilled onto the bluff, their seraph blades like stars in the darkness. They cut down more vampires. She felt Isabella bristle in response. What would they do? Run?

She looked to Isabella, just a spear flew into her chest. Blood sprayed up.

"No!" the scream tore out of her. Isabella dropped heavily. Ailia knelt beside her. Her friend whined low in her throat.

"No, no, no. Isabella, please stay." Tears burned tracks down her cheeks.

But no matter how much Ailia pleaded, it wasn't enough. She watched as Isabella's wolf body Changed, back into her human body. Ailia sniffed, pushing back her black hair from her face.

Another person that the Nephilim took from her.

She watched as a Shadowhunter ran by, slowing to a stop near her.

"Miss, are you alright?"

She slowly stood, her grip tight on her seraph blades. His eyes darted to the strange glow of the blades, to her face.

"You killed her," she stated.

"What? The werewolf? I thought that the beast was going to kill you!"

Beast. Huh. Anything that wasn't Nephilim was just an animal?

"No, she was my friend. Trying to save our sisters. But no, you brought the vampires here!" she screamed.

The man blanched. "No, we didn't! We were chasing after them!"

"Then who set the church on fire then?" she spat.

The Shadowhunter continued to sputter.

"I've had enough of you Nephilim," she snarled and struck. The man's head parted easily with his body, his blood sizzling in contact with the angelic blades.

She fell to her knees, her chest burning. It was like something wanted out, to be unleashed through her. With a scream, she let it out.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When she woke, all she could smell was smoke.

Ailia pushed herself up. In the early gray sunrise, smoke rose in tendrils around her. The Sanctuary was a blackened skeleton, its bones sharp against the pale sky.

Bodies were scattered along the bluff. Her eyes immediately found Isabella. Then to the dead Shadowhunter nearby, missing his head. It had all happened. It was real.

The seraph blades were near her. With a disgusted snarl, she threw the weapons away from her.

"Ailia," a familiar voice said.

She turned to find Sister Freya standing behind her, a sword in her hand. But she looked different from the Sister Freya she knew. Her cheekbones were sharper, her chin slightly more pointed. Ailia looked to her ears. They were slightly pointed. Fey.

"Sister Freya," she said, her voice coming out in a rasp.

"No need to call me that. Freya is fine," she said gruffly, kneeling by her. "Well you're not wounded." The fey woman studied her. "I'm not the only one who went through a lifting of a glamour."

"What?"

Freya handed her a mirror. Not questioning why she had one on her person, she looked into it.

The blue stripe in her hair had grown. To cover everything. Her hair was a deep midnight blue. And her eyes, God. They were still blue-gray, but the gray had coalesced around her pupil, forming the shape of a silver star. Her features seemed sharper, slimmer. With apprehension, she lifted her hair away from her ear. It was pointed as well.

"I don't understand."

"If you want answers, you can come with me," she said.

"Where?"

"To Faerie."

Her hand went to her bodice, feeling her mother's journal underneath. Her mother had fled Faerie when she was pregnant with her. She must have done that for a reason.

But would Ailia's mother have guessed that the Sanctuary would be destroyed? She had no other place to go.

"If you are doubtful, there is something I can also offer besides answers."

"What?"

"Vengeance."

Ailia looked to Isabella's body once again, then to the Shadowhunter she killed. The thing in her core burned.

"Yes. I will come."

Freya smiled smugly. "Of course. Now we wait."

"Wait?"

An eerie horn sounded in the silence, echoing in Ailia's soul. Unsettled, she drew closer to Freya.

Horses descended from the heavens. Fey warriors with mismatched eyes. It was as if the nighttime stories her mother used to tell her came to life. The Wild Hunt.

That meant the figure in the brown armour and the helm with antlers could only be Gwyn. The leader of the Hunt.

He dismounted, as well as two other warriors. Ailia felt their eyes on her as Gwyn approached.

"Lady Freya," he said.

Freya slowly smiled and approached him. She reached for him, her fingers tangling into his hair, and kissed him. The warriors whistled and howled, as Gwyn pulled Freya closer, not caring that he had an audience.

Ailia just stared.

Freya whispered something into his ear, making him laugh. His eyes met Ailia's. She couldn't help but be fascinated with them. One was dark brown, almost black, while the other was a pale blue.

"So this is the girl that the Queen wants. Hmm. She looks familiar."

Freya bit at his ear, looking at Ailia as well. "She is the daughter of Princess Elara, if I'm not mistaken."

Elara. My mother's name. She had been a fey princess?

"We wouldn't want you to keep the Queen waiting, darling," Gwyn said. "You know how she gets."

"Yes, let's go, shall we?"

Gwyn gestured to one of his warriors. Strong hands seized her by the waist, despite her surprised shriek, and plopped her on one of the horses. She was so high up. The men laughed. Embarrassment ran hot along her cheeks.

The warrior that helped her up was a gentry fey. His long russet hair was bound, his eyes an enticing silver and blue. He mounted the horse behind her, his chest bumping into her back. His arms went around her to clasp the reins.

"Best hold on to the saddle," he said casually. "Or else you will plummet from the heavens before we get there."

Ailia gulped, her fingers grasping the saddle. The tough leather bent underneath her grip.

The horn sounded again.

The man seated behind her flicked the reins.

They shot up into the sky.

The clouds raced by them, the wind so cold it sank into her bones. Ailia looked down. Gray silver clouds rolled out like a field below them. Sometimes she could catch a flash of the green earth below. A wide smile broke onto her face.

The men cheered and howled as they rode. Freya's bright hair trailed out behind her in the harsh wind. Ailia let her voice join them. The man behind her chuckled, the vibration of it going through her.

Despite the heartache and blood and death, Ailia once felt free. Free to do what she wanted. Free to pursue her heart's desire.

Free to make the Nephilim bleed.

….

Once they landed, the fey warrior who shared his horse with her, had to help Ailia off the horse. Her legs and arse were cramped up from the ride and too weak to bear her weight. He held her with one arm as he unlaced his bags from his saddle while she cursed.

"Much appreciated," she said once her legs steadied.

"You're welcome," he answered.

"Come on, Ailia!" a strong hand seized her by the sleeve. "We must go and see the Queen!"

Ailia let Freya drag her away, though she looked back at the man. He winked, making her blush.

Then she was shoved into a room, where maids ripped off her bloody clothes, not caring about Ailia's modesty. She pulled on a white dress offered to her, with wide sleeves and a thick silver belt around the waist. The maids had ripped into her hair, furiously washing out the blood and ash and then brushing and styling it. Finally, she was presented to a mirror. She barely recognized herself.

Her new midnight blue hair was styled in the way of fey, half up with two small braids framing her face. The white dress emphasized how fair her skin was. One of the girls placed a delicate chain over her hair, a teardrop pearl nestling upon her brow. She looked fey.

She looked like her mother.

Freya burst into the room, studying her.

"That will do. Come."

Then she was taken away from the room, through a passageway lined with vines and jewel coloured flowers. It was beautiful. Almost too beautiful. Trepidation sparked along Ailia's nerves.

Her mother, a princess of the Fair Folk of all things, ran from Faerie, from her fey blood. Something had made her run. But what was it?

Maybe it had something to do with her.

Her mother's journal!

It was still in the room. But she couldn't turn back now. Or else the Queen might take her head for disrespect.

She could only hope that no one would take it.

They entered the throne room, with Ailia trying not to gape. The floor was interspersed with vines and glittering stone. Despite her knowing that there was a roof over her head, the ceiling resembled a night sky, covered in stars and milky blue white clouds. In front of her was a dais, with a grand gold and silver throne on the top step, and three smaller thrones flanking on the step below.

Above the thrones was a viewing area, where other gentry fey sat, all of them watching her and Freya approach the throne.

"Kneel," Freya hissed as a horn sounded. Ailia quickly got to her knees, bowing her head. She wondered if even looking at the Queen would be considered an offense. She was tempted to ask when another horn blew.

In the corner of her eye, she could see fine fabric drift across the grassy floor. Four people crossed the floor. From what she could see, three females and one male.

"Remain kneeling until she tells you to rise," Freya whispered. "Keep your eyes lowered. Don't look at them. You can get whipped for less."

Ailia swallowed hard. God, why did she leave with these people?

"Rise," a low female voice said. Ailia looked to Freya. The woman rose, Ailia followed suit.

She kept her eyes trained on the grassy steps.

"Lady Freya."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Who is the girl you have there?"

"Her name is Ailia Night, your Majesty. I found her at a Sanctuary in Irish lands. She is the daughter of Princess Elara, your Majesty."

The Fey Queen began to laugh, a sound so pure that Ailia was tempted to shed tears.

Ailia noticed that the gentry above were silent.

"Girl, approach the throne," the amused voice demanded. Ailia froze.

"Go!" Freya shoved her forward. The gentry laughed as she stumbled her way up to the dais.

"There is good," the voice said. "Kneel for me."

Ailia shakily knelt. A pair of ivory feet descended the stairs and stopped in front of her.

"Look at me."

Ailia hesitated.

"I shouldn't need to ask again, girl," the voice said, her words hinting at a threat.

Ailia slowly raised her gaze. She took in a breath. The Queen was the most beautiful woman she had even seen. Her hair was the colour of blood, her skin the colour of freshly fallen snow. Red lips smiled at her, her eyes as dark as the night sky.

Her smile widened. Ailia felt the Queen's fingers on her chin. "Ah, yes. You look like your mother. And your grandmother. Maybe even your great grandmother," she said teasingly.

Her fingers gently stroked Ailia's cheek.

With a sudden movement, she had her chin in a vise grip.

"Your mother stole you away when she was pregnant with you. From your blood. She betrayed our way of life in favour of those Nephilim. What will make you so different? Why shouldn't I kill you where you kneel?"

Her nails pierced Ailia's skin. Blood began to run down the Queen's hand. The gentry tittered.

"The Nephilim took everything from me," she said. "They killed my mother. My best friend. They burn and kill those who are not them."

"Ah," the Queen said. "Now what do you want?"

"I want to see them burn," Ailia growled, her eyes meeting hers. "Burn until there's nothing left. Not even their memory."

The Queen laughed, joy lighting her face. Her beauty was so radiant, so blinding, it was like looking at the sun.

"Then you will have it. You will have that and more," the Queen caressed her face, her own blood smearing onto her cheeks.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A few months later…..

Ailia flicked the reins once again, urging her horse to go faster. She took her bow and nocked an arrow. Half turning, she aimed her arrow at the riders behind her.

Queen Mab had ordered the execution of a group of rogue warriors. She had reason to believe that they were planning a coup.

She recalled her Queen's words.

_It is most important that we stand together as a people. To undertake this war, we must all stand together. It is the only way to get what we all wish. The destruction of the Shadowhunters. _

She released her arrow, it finding home in one of the soldier's hearts. He toppled off his horse. She nocked another and fired. Another warrior done. She turned back around and reached for her sword. There were more rogue fey running for her on the ground.

Holding onto the front of the saddle, she balanced her feet on the seat. As the horse drew close enough, Ailia launched off the horse, colliding with one of the male fey. As they fell together, she grabbed the fey by the head and broke his neck. She ran his body into the ground, and rolled neatly away. Withdrawing her sword, she took on the rest.

In the end, she stood among the bodies, red and green blood splashed onto her armour. Ailia wiped off the blood on her blade. One day she would reclaim her mother's sword. One day she would watch all the Nephilim burn.

She drew up her hood. Sheathing her sword, she searched the bodies. Anything to see who they were colluding with.

The thunder of horse hoof made her stiffen. She cocked her head. They were still a bit away. Enough time to collect proof of their deaths and make an exit. After sawing off their fingers and tucking them away, she called up the Change.

Queen Mab had told her that her bloodline, what she was, was special. That she was stronger than any Downworlder or any Shadowhunter.

That she could not only access to demonic and angelic magics, but fey magic as well, a magic that had no alliance to either Heaven or Hell.

And that her Great Gift was the ability to Change, to become any person by looking at them, and was able to access their thoughts and abilities.

After becoming a fey male, she mounted her horse and fled.

…..

Michael Carstairs rode up the plain. He had sworn that he had seen someone kneeling in the grasses, with a striking midnight blue cloak. He had even seen the fight, at a great distance.

But when he arrived, there was nothing there except dead fey. As he analyzed the bodies, he noticed that each warrior had a finger missing. Probably for proof of death.

The person that did this. He had only seen a little, but what he did see...

He had never seen anyone move that fast, not even a Shadowhunter.

But he couldn't worry about that now. Not with the farce of a Contest the King was throwing.

He sighed.

….

As she made her way through the passages of the Royal Castle, servants bowed to her. She was Lady Midnight, Princess Ailia, the Queen's chosen weapon.

As she entered the throne room, she felt the glares of Princess Titania and Prince Oberon. Princess Cordelia looked at her with empty eyes, like she looked at everything else.

Unfortunately, she had drawn the ire of her blood, by being Queen Mab's new favourite.

She knelt with her sack, her head bowed.

"Rise," Queen Mab said with a lift of her hand. "What makes of the traitors?"

"All dead," Ailia said. She reached into her sack, and pulled out the severed fingers. "I did not have enough time to bring you their heads, your Majesty. Someone was approaching."

"Hmm. A Shadowhunter perhaps. Very good, my dear Lady Midnight. Now, there is something that has been brought to my attention. It is time you infiltrate the Shadowhunters."

"My Queen?" Ailia asked stunned.

"The current King, ailing and mad as he is, has decided to hold a Contest, for the Nephilim crown. Each lordship will be sending a Champion to compete for the throne. You will win the throne for us. We will destroy the Nephilim from within."

Excitement sparked in her veins. Finally, she thought giddily.

"You will use your blood connection to the Fairchilds. Make sure that you are chosen as Champion by your grandfather. I have no doubt he will. He had such a weak spot for your mother and hers."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Leave the traitors' fingers there. Pack your things. You will go tonight."

Ailia bowed her head further.

The Queen dismissed her.

With glee, Ailia went to her room. She packed clothing into her sack, along with weapons, poisons, anything that she would need.

She picked up her journal. Her mother's words had given her comfort during her time here in Faerie. She knew that her Queen was right. From her mother's words, she knew that Conall Fairchild loved Elara dearly. Almost more than his pure Nephilim children, much to their jealousy and dismay.

Apparently she had even brought a young Ailia to show to Conall, and the poor bastard actually wept.

It would be too easy.

She looked into her mirror. After so much time in Faerie, the mortal, human Ailia had melted away. All that was left was the fey warrior Lady Midnight.

She brought her forehead to the cover of her mother's journal.

"I will avenge you, Mother. Isabella. There will be no Nephilim that will escape the pain of your loss that I felt."

With a sigh, she called up her magic, preparing for the Change. This time, she only had to alter certain things about her appearance. She first changed her hair, from midnight blue to the golden brown it used to be. Then her eyes back to the old blue gray. She dulled the sharpness She had to show the fey heritage.

She stuffed the journal into her sack. Just as she thought she was ready, Princess Cordelia floated into her room, her pale hair gleaming like moonlight.

"Princess Cordelia," she said, giving a light curtesy.

As the elder, Cordelia nodded.

"Ailia, you must be careful," she said. "You must succeed in your task. The Queen will not tolerate failure. But even if you do, Queen Mab will have the Nephilim throne."

Ailia's eyebrows crinkled. "I will not betray the Queen, Cordelia, You needn't worry about that."

"The Nephilim, they are easy to get attached to."

Ailia suppressed a snort.

"Some of them are despicable, yes, but others are honourable, noble, gentle."

The way she spoke of the Shadowhunters. With such softness and care. Cordelia had loved one of them. It confirmed her suspicions.

Cordelia was Elara's mother. Her grandmother. Which meant that Mab was her great-grandmother.

She knew it was a possibility. The other was that she was the last of one of the royal lines of one of the toppled courts. Faerie had been divided into four Courts; Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter until Mab, the then Queen of Winter, united them into one, declaring herself Queen of all Faerie. It would not be unlike Mab to keep around some of the toppled royal bloods.

"You don't want me to kill Conall," she said flatly.

"Please," Cordelia said. "I cannot interfere more than this. I've already earned enough of my mother's ire and distrust."

"And in return?" Ailia asked.

"I will tell you why your mother fled, the real reason."

"I do not need to know."

"Yes you do. But I will only tell you when I know you will spare Conall's life," she said.

Ailia nodded. "Fine. It is a deal. Now, was there anything you wanted me to tell Conall for you? This will be outside of our deal."

"Meaning I would owe you," Cordelia narrowed her eyes.

"Yes."

Cordelia studied her granddaughter. She was so fey now. She knew how to bargain like one. Losing her mother and her safe haven, her best friend. No wonder she burned with such hatred. But what would happen to her once her vengeance was fuffilled? Would it only leave a husk of a girl?

She sighed and withdrew a folded letter from her bodice. "Give this to him indirectly. In exchange for your sparing him and delivering this to Conall, I will give you information about you and your mother, as well as one favour."

Ailia raised her brows. A favour from a Faerie princess. That was big.

She really loved Conall Fairchild that much.

Ailia shook her head. She didn't think she had the capacity to love anymore. Only vengeance.

She took Cordelia's letter.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She rode hard for Dublin for days straight.

Finally, the Dublin Institute came into view. She was camped in the woods just on the outskirts of it. Pearly fog encircled the gray stone castle. The wind blew through the trees, making the leaves whisper to her.

She felt unbound and free. Since being in Faerie, the wildness of the forests called to her deeply, like a song in her blood. Ailia couldn't believe that she had stayed in the abbey most of her life. She couldn't imagine living there now.

Her soul belonged in the open never-ending plains of Faerie.

Maybe that was why her mother fled to the mortal country of Ireland. It reminded her so much of Faerieland.

She double checked her weapons, and her dwindling food rations.

Conall would recognize her as her granddaughter. But the thing was that she did not possess any Shadowhunter weapons or items. No stele, no seraph blades, no runed armour.

But her mother also left the Institute as well. To the lands of mortals. So it would make sense if she only had mortal armour and weapons like she did now.

She drew her hood over her head. The material was scratchy, unlike the midnight blue cloak the fey had made for her. She couldn't wear it without bringing suspicion.

Ailia smiled. Time to make an entrance.

She rode into the open gates of the Institute. Shadowhunters flooded the courtyard, weapons reflecting the dull light of the cloudy sun.

Through the grand wood doors, a tall muscular man led the charge, a luxurious fur cloak resting on his shoulders. He had red curling hair and a beard to match. But his eyes were kind and crinkled at the corners. Conall Fairchild, Lord of the Dublin Institute.

"Who goes there?" he called.

Ailia slowly smiled. She knew that none of them could see her face underneath the shadow of her hood.

"You called for a Champion, did you not?" she answered.

Conall smiled. "Well you will have to face my warriors so I can see your skill, mysterious stranger."

Ailia dismounted in one smooth motion. The warriors smirked at her height. Most active Shadowhunters were male. The women were allowed to fight as well, but many Lords had decided to follow the mortal's discrimination of what a woman could do. And with the fact that the Nephilim's numbers were still dismally small compared to the mortals or Downworlders. Women were valuable for what they could provide, future Shadowhunters.

Although the custom confused Ailia. They had the Mortal Cup for a reason. She laughed to herself. They probably thought that pure born Shadowhunters were better than Ascended ones.

"Would you like me to do it here, or inside?" she asked, unsheathing her sword.

"We can do it inside. After you," he said, gesturing towards the closed doors.

A test. Only a Shadowhunter could open the doors of an Institute. A twinge of nervousness twisted her stomach into knots. What if she couldn't open it? She should have enough angel blood to, but what of the demon blood from her fey heritage?

She marched up the steps, brushing by Conall. She touched the wood door, feeling the magic writhing within.

"My name is Ailia Fairchild," she whispered, too low for anyone to hear. "In the name of Raziel, please grant me entry."

The door groaned open.

Relief washed over her like a cold wind.

She sashayed confidently into the Institute, following Conall into the training room. The windows were typical of a church, tall and peaked at the top. Multicoloured glass formed images of the Angel and the Mortal Instruments. From the rafters, deep purple banners were hung, with the crest of the Fairchilds; a pair of faery wings. At the end of the large space was a dais, with a table on the top.

She twirled her sword absently as Conall and his entourage mounted the dais and sat behind the table resting at the top.

The other candidates for Champion remained in the space with her.

She guessed she would have to try not to kill them.

They could also heal with those special runes of theirs.

She felt the men position themselves around her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

The first strike came from behind. She crouched down, ducking beneath the blade. She kicked out behind her, feeling the satisfying snap of bone. She whirled, her pommel hitting the man in the temple. He crumbled to the floor.

Another charged her, their blades clanging loudly. Their swords danced briefly, before she could sense the other two warriors sneaking up on her. She had to stop playing around.

She disarmed the man she sparred with, while kicking behind her. With a cry, she jumped, her legs catching the man's neck between her legs, and sent him hard into the ground. With a whirling kick, she took out the last man, with a heel to the temple.

She closed her eyes once more, exhaling slowly, her back facing the table. Her hood had fallen down in the fight.

Slow stunned clapping sounded behind her.

"Now, warrior, who are you?" asked the awed voice of Conall Fairchild.

She sheathed her sword. She turned slowly.

"My name is Ailia. Daughter of Elara Fairchild," she said, lifting her chin. She smirked. "And your new Champion I believe."

Conall stared at her, his face pale underneath his beard. But those kind eyes were glassy. He descended the dais quickly and approached her. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes taking in her features, everything about her.

The Queen was right. Conall was weak when it came to her family.

But staring into those teary eyes, made a sliver of doubt sink in. His rough callused hands touched her cheek. She tried not to recoil at the gentle touch. When was the last time someone touched her with such genuine gentleness? The fey were not gentle beings. Not even her lover Finn.

Conall took her into his arms, her head nestling under his chin. Ailia stiffened but let the man hold her.

….

After showing her her room, Conall allowed her free reign of the Institute. As soon as he left, she went for the window, opening the grate with a heave.

Crouched on the windowsill, Ailia began to climb, up to the roof. Cordelia also told her that the Dublin Lord's bedroom was on the top floor. There she could sneak the letter. Quiet as a breeze, she pushed herself up onto the windowsill. Inside, Conall was sitting on the edge of his grand bed, his fiery hair tangled in his fingers.

Casting an invisibility spell over herself, she pushed open the window. Conall jolted to a stand. She let the breeze carry the letter to him.

For some reason, she paused, watching as her mortal grandfather opened the letter. A smile as bright as the sun lit up Conall's face as he recognized Cordelia's writing. A Nephilim. So pleased for a stupid piece of paper.

How could Cordelia love a Shadowhunter? How could she love him?

She scowled, pushing herself off the walls. The descent was easy, the air howling in her ears. Her fall seemed to slow, the ground slowly approaching. She landed easily in a crouch.

Ailia ran to the woods and waited, casting off the invisibility spell. The woods were quiet, too quiet.

Strong arms twined around her waist, pulling her into a hard chest. She turned, finding Finn there, his mismatched eyes twinkling down at her.

"I sensed you in the woods," she said, running her hands over his chest and to his shoulders. "Why are you here?"

"I can't come see you?" he purred. He leaned in close, nipping at her earlobe.

"Yes, but why?" she asked, pushing him slightly away.

He sobered.

"The Wild Hunt is leaving once again, isn't it?"

He ducked his head. "Yes, my love."

She slowly smiled. "Then we should make the most of our time together then?"

Finn gave her a hungry smile and took her into his arms.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ailia felt the stares of the Nephilim as she made her way to the Fairchilds' private dining quarters. She was supposed to meet her mother's half-sister. Unfortunately, Conall had said, her half-brother was off fighting at the front of the Vampire War, in the Carpathians.

At least its one less Nephilim, she thought to herself.

She looked down at her dress. She missed the ethereal fabrics of the fey. This monstrosity of a dress was so stuffy and hot. The servants had draped an underdress on her, followed by the outer dress, which was a strange burnt orange colour. The sleeves, pulled tight with scarlet ribbons, cut into her skin. A heavy gold belt was pulled around her waist, angelic runes hammered into the surface. She touched them, tracing their patterns. She could feel their power. Like sparkling golden light, gentle yet blinding when it needed to be. So different from the chaos of demonic magic, or the wild whirlwind that was faerie magic.

She touched her golden brown hair. Her glamour was still in place.

Ailia thought back to her mother's journal. She had not read much of it, since being sent to the Institute. And her mother's words held mostly things about her father Conall. If there were words about her half-siblings, they had been ripped out.

The dining hall was a fine place. A witchlight chandelier hung from the ceiling, strings of glittering gems dangling from its arms.

A long gleaming dark table lay before her. A roasted pig laid on a silver platter in the middle of the table. There was fresh steaming bread, tins of soup, cut and spiced vegetables. Ailia grudgingly had to admit that the feast looked fantastic.

"Ailia my dear! No need to hide in the shadows."

She quickly approached and sat down just to the left of her grandfather. Across from her was her mother's half-sister.

She had the same red hair as her father, the bright strands pinned up in an over-elaborate do. Her dress was of fine make, not surprisingly. The edges of her sleeves were edged with gold, the metal hammered with runes. Wrist-sheaths. Hmm.

She was also alarmingly pregnant.

"Ailia, this is my daughter Meibh. Meibh, this is your niece."

I stilled. She shared the same name as one of the old Queens of Faerie. The former Queen of Summer Court.

"Like the Summer Queen," she murmured.

The two Nephilim looked at her.

"Yes," Meibh answered. "You seem well educated in the Shadow World." A derisive tone entered her tone.

Ailia speared some meat onto her fork. "Yes well, it was either that or die in the mud," she said casually.

Meibh's lips quirked up. Ailia could feel her grandfather's worried gaze. He wanted them to get along. Looked like that hope was falling to pieces.

"My mother taught me much of the Shadow World when I was young," she added.

"And where is that gallivanting mother of yours?" Meibh asked.

Ailia stiffened. She slowly looked to her aunt. The woman flinched at the gaze. Meibh could only describe it as staring into the void of death.

Ailia slowly twirled her knife between her fingers. The tension mounted around the table.

With a sudden movement, she slammed the blade into the wood. She could not stand the Shadowhunter's snobbery. Not when it came to her mother.

"While you were resting your precious soft feet in your castle, my mother fought demons in the mortal world. She died with a sword in the chest. So do not think that you are better than she is. You are nowhere close to what she was. If you weren't family, I would kill you where you sit, chewing like the stupid cow you are, for looking down on her," she pushed herself away from the table.

Conall looked at her with heartbroken eyes. Meibh glared, her face pale, her lips pulled tight. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry, Conall. I cannot sit here with her. Thank you for the dinner," she said, taking her plate and utensils. She grabbed a loaf of bread and left.

….

She attempted to sleep, but Ailia could not. So she went to the training room. Moonlight leaked in from the windows, lighting the Angel Raziel in ethereal light.

She found the weapons room adjacent from the training room, behind an unassuming wood door. Weapons lined the walls. Something caught her attention. In a steel bowl, were a handful of steles. She tentatively took one. Could her body bear the angelic runes? She had always wondered. It would give her even more power to what she already wielded. Stuffing one into the waistband of her trousers, she took a sword from the wall, and re-entered the training room.

In the moonlight, she went through her exercises, her sword flashing with blue-white light.

In the shadows, Meibh watched her niece. Tears ran down her face, as she ran her hands over her swollen stomach.

The girl moved so quickly, with such deadly grace and power. She had not seen the fight that had crowned Ailia Champion. But she did not doubt her father's words. The fight had ended before it had started.

With Ailia as Champion, she had no doubt that the Nephilim crown would belong to the Fairchilds. As it should be. As they had been loyal, when the others had not in the Great Upheaval.

She padded slowly towards Ailia. A sudden creak in the wood alerted her presence.

Ailia landed hard onto the floor, hissing in pain. Meibh rushed as fast as she could, holding her stomach. By the Angel, the baby was heavy.

"Are you alright?" she asked breathlessly.

Ailia glared at her. "What are you doing here? I thought I made my intentions clear about you."

"I'm sorry, Ailia. I… I was devestated by your mother's departure as was Father. Even though we did not share the same mother, we were sisters. I had never felt closer to anyone. So when you came in, looking so much like Elara-" Meibh sobbed.

Ailia huffed.

"I thought just like her, you would leave. Break my heart, break Father's all over again," she continued.

"I'm sorry for you. That you had to lose Elara so early in your life."

Ailia narrowed her eyes. "But you were not surprised to find out that she was dead."

"No. Your mother, when she ran, she seemed scared. But not for her. But for you. She had showed you to us, you know. This tiny little bundle, with a little fluff of brown hair. But your eyes, it was like I could see the stars in them. I knew you would be special, just like Elara."

Meibh looked at Ailia's hand. One of her fingers had been bent back, and was hanging limply.

"Your hand," she said, taking it into her own. Her niece hissed.

"Here," she said. With a quick jerk, she re-aligned her finger. Ailia grunted low in her throat. She withdrew a stele and quickly drew a rune on her hand, before Ailia could say anything.

Ailia was surprised. It burned, as the rune was drawn on her skin.

"There, you should be good."

Ailia stared at the rune. She could feel the pain dull into a manageable ache. She smiled to herself.

"Thank you," she said, her voice awed as she stared at the rune.

Meibh, slightly confused, nodded.


End file.
